


the dark caress of someone else (any thrill will do)

by okayantigone



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 16:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16520156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: After a game well won, Riko and Kevin go to say "Hi" to Kevin's crush, USC Trojans captain Jeremy Knox.Riko's feeling indulgent, and Kevin - Kevin wants. Hungers. Starves."How could you let them touch me?" Jeremy asks, turning his striken face to Jean. "Knowing what he was?"





	the dark caress of someone else (any thrill will do)

**Author's Note:**

> It has come to my attention that some new people have started reading my TFC, and especially Rikev content here and on tumblr, which is lovely! However, I would ask, that if you take any of the headcanons and ideas expressed in my fics on board, and use them as inspiration in your own writing, especially if you choose to mirror scenes and dialogues, that you please, please give me some form of credit, or at least mention me.  
> I write these things for free, and I share them with you all because we love the same series. It wasn't such a long time ago that I was getting constant anonymous hate and vitriol on my tumblr and twitter over writing Riko, and I already blanked out my archive once. It would pain me greatly to have to delete my works a second time over people (intentionally or unintentionally) disrespecting all the effort I put into my writing.  
> Please give credit where credit is due - our fandom has some very talented and wonderfully creative people, but it hurts when I see them use stuff I've worked hard on, and get no acknowledgment on it. There's a nifty little function right on the AO3 posting page, where you can select a work or author that your fic has been inspired by -I've used it myself for some of my Naruto and Marvel suff.  
> I know how hard all of us creators work - let's support and bolster each other!

“I can’t believe you let him touch me,” Jeremy whispers, and he sounds striken in a way Jean’s never heard – never wanted to hear – from his beautiful sunshine boy. His handsome face is shattered, full mouth downturned, and he looks as close to betrayed as he will allow himself.

 

“You don’t know what it was like,” Jean says, just as quiet, looking down at his scarred hands, and the fine tremble running through them parallel to the scars, and what he means is _I’m sorry._

It’s like this: two years ago the Ravens sept the fucking floor of the Castle Evermore court with the USC Trojans and earned themselves another trophy. The morning after another monumental win found Jean after a night of uncharacteristically good sleep, sipping bitter black tea in the kitchen at the Nest.

 

5:59 am Jean was holding the mug.

 

6:01 am he dropped the mug to the floor.

 

6:00am Jeremy Knox walked into the kitchen, wearing Kevin’s hoody, beautifully oversized in his more narrow frame, falling barely to his thighs to preserve his modesty, the sleeves too long on his arms, hiding his talented hands. Large red letters proclaimed him proudly property of DAY #2.

 

His pretty, sun-kissed face falls.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry! Did I startle you? Here, let me help.” He kneels beside Jean. His body radiates heat. he picks up the shards with his uncomplicated fingers.  
  
His thighs have blossomed in bruises where they brush against the seam of Jean’s black jeans.  
  
“There,” Jeremy smiles, and tosses the broken shards in the bin. “All fixed.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Jean says.  
  
Jeremy inclines his head, bashful. A blush creeps up under the constellations of his freckles, his sun-drenched eyes lowering, thick lashes kissing the tops of his finely chiseled cheekbones. His throat is marked with a collar of teeth, and Jean can just about imagine Riko, like some vampire, gnawing at the tender flesh, leeching sunlight and life. Him and Kevin both, descending on him, infecting him with their sickness.  
  
“Riko said um – “ Jeremy fidgets, making his hands into paws in the sweater, “he said I could … get some coffee?”  
  
His ever present smile is sweet and shy – _he thinks I’m judging him_ , Jean realizes. He’d traced Jean’s gaze to the hickeys. But finding flaw in Jeremy Knox would be a hard-won battle.

“I thought you hated me,” Jeremy says in the present, voice strained with the knowing. “That morning, in the kitchen. I thought…. I don’t know. That you thought I was some disorganized untalented slut, here to ruin your good discipline.”  
  
Jean winces. “I didn’t hate you. Not then. Not ever.”  
  
Jeremy softens. “I know.”  
  
“I was angry,” Jean’s voice is a faraway thing. “Because I wanted to tell you, and I knew you couldn’t. And even if you did… would you have believed me?”  
  
“Probably not,” Jeremy admits, swallowing thickly past the understanding. Riko had just been… that good. Him and Kevin, and their terrible secret.

 

He’d sensed their eyes on him after the game, the weight of their combined gaze, the compelling force in their matching smiles.

 

Riko mouthed something, his fingers closing over Kevin’s upper arm. Kevin slackened in the hold. His smile tightened. He nodded. They crossed the court to where the Trojans were congratulating each other on a good game, taking the loss in good humor.  
  
It’s like this: Jeremy knows Kevin Day. Ever since he’d captained the USC Trojans, he and Kevin Day had met every year at the Memorial Day Foundation dinner, where Kevin, silent, stern-faced, black clad, walked on stage to shake Jeremy’s hand and present him the Spirit Day award, named for his late mother Kayleigh. Grief and congratulation always warred on his face then. Jeremy’s eyes would follow him off the stage, as he found his way, like a tidal wave to the shores of Riko, where he could quietly break apart.

 

It’s like this:

 

Riko says: “I’m sure he can feel that thousand yard stare from across the room.”  
  
Kevin says “I’m sorry.”  
  
Riko grabs his arm. “Don’t be. Let’s go say hi.”  
  
“You – what - ?”  
  
“I can go on my own. Or you can come with me. Your awful fondness of him is getting tedious. Come on.”

 

Riko Moriyama has dark, deep set eyes, and a fine-boned aristocratic face. A full mouth, which is pleasing to the eye, and a slender lean body, elegant hands marked with calluses that promise strength. Kevin is green-eyed, handsome in his own way, square-jawed and broad shouldered.  
  
Riko shakes Jeremy’s hand. “You played very well today. As usual, I admire your work ethic. Though ethic alone is not enough to ensure victory.”  


“No, indeed, talent has something to do with it too.” Jeremy had agreed, easy, good-natured. Just some friendly barbs after a game. “You’re proof of that - you played fantastically well.”

 

He’s always ready and willing to end n a positive note. And the praise is well earned. Riko glows with the praise. Kevin rewards him with a smile.

 

“No need to be facetious, Jeremy – may I call you by your first name – Kevin… and I , of course … are quite the admirers of yours.”

 

The words in of themselves are nice. Pleasant. Warmth pools low in Jeremy’s stomach. The best in the game acknowledging him so openly is flattery in its finest form.  
  
“Of course you may,” Jeremy says. “And may I - ?”  
  
“Of course,” Kevin says, smoothly. “You know, it’s funny… all these years, I give you pretty plaque, after pretty plaque – “

 

A polite chuckle from Riko.

 

“We should be on a first name basis,” he finishes.

 

“And,” Riko adds. “We should get to know … each other… better.”

 

“Us Ravens… well. We value our discipline, we tend not to languish in victory celebration,” Kevin says, but his eyes glow with something unfamiliar. Something tempting, and Jeremy wants to know what.

 

“But we make exceptions, sometimes,” Riko says. “If you wanted to join us… for some dinner.”

 

“We could give you some pointers, you know,” Kevin says. Riko rolls his eyes in fond exasperation.  
  
“Or. We could not about exy at all,” his smile is nothing but teeth.

 

“Think about it, Jeremy,” Kevin says, fondly. “We’ll wait for you in lounge.”

 

Jeremy has never gotten out of his equipment and into his clothes faster in his life.

 

Riko and Kevin are in the lounge. In their matching black jeans and matching v-neck sweaters, they look like a Tommy Hilfiger commercial.

 

They eat together in the Raven’s kitchen, while the rest of the Ravens are in the dining hall. Riko cooks some traditional Japanese dish. Kevin hovers helpfully. Jeremy admires them from his seat at the table. Off the court, they move like they do on it. Perfectly in tune with each other. Some invisible tether connecting them, reading each other’s minds.

 

Kevin’s fingers ghost over Riko’s upper arm. Riko smiles up at him. Holds a spoonful like an offering, “Taste.”

 

Yeah. Jeremy wants to.

 

They pile the dishes in the sink. Jeremy stands up. Kevin is solid and warm behind him. Riko crowds him. That teeth-filled mouth is smiling, and the smile is shaped like a question.

 

Riko’s head is tilted to the side, inquisitive. Jeremy wants to trace the line of his jaw with his lips. Wants to feel the solid warmth of Kevin’s arms around him.  
  
“So you guys share everything?” he asks, shaky.  
  
“Yes,” Kevin whispers in his ear. “Everything,” Riko echoes into his mouth.

 

Jeremy reflects back on that descend into the Nest, the thick carpet of the dark hall swallowing up their footsteps. The click of the bedroom door as it shut behind them.  
  
Riko had asked to keep the lights off.  
  
“Probably not,” he admits, and Jean nods, more to himself than anything.

 

No one would have believed him about the sons of exy. Not when Jeremy wore a much different kind of bruising. Not when his smile was still shaped after their mouths on him.  
  
He nursed a sugary coffee with that same secretive smile when Riko and Kevin walked in, twin grins of satisfaction on their hateful faces.

 

“Sleep well?” Riko asks. Kevin swallows Jeremy’s answer in a kiss.  
  
Jeremy bows his head, smiling fondly, and presses a palm to his throat, fingering the bruising.  
  
“Jean,” Kevin says, pointedly. “You’re in the way.”  
  
Jean moves. Kevin retrieves the loose leaf tea from the cupboard, while Riko boils the water.  
  
Jean can’t be in the room anymore.  
  
“I wanted to tell you,” he repeats. “But it wouldn’t have mattered.”

 

“How could Kevin – “ Jeremy begins.  
  
“Kevin’s the one who wanted you,” Jean interrupts savagely, and finds some satisfaction in Jeremy’s shocket little noise. Where Riko went, Kevin followed, and Riko may have been the one to initiate it that time, but it was Kevin who’d been sick with longing. With desire and need. And what Kevin wanted, Riko wanted. What Kevin coveted, Riko would get for him, but only if they could share. So they did.

 

It’s like this: Riko asks Jeremy if they can keep the lights out.  
  
Kevin is the one who helps Jeremy out of his clothes.

 

Their mouths are hungry and insatiable like they’ve been starving their whole lives. But they know how to share.  
  
Kevin kisses his hip, sweet and tender. Kisses a line down the inside of his thigh.  
  
Riko traces Jeremy’s lips with his fingers, and Jeremy draws them into his mouth. It silences the noise he makes when Kevin licks between his cheeks.  
  
“Good boy,” Riko croons. “We’ll take such good care of you.”  
  
Jeremy’s brain is disconnected from his body. He wants – he wants. Kevin’s hand finds his and gives it a gentle squeeze.  
  
“Let Kevin take care of you,” Riko says. “He’s so good, isn’t he? We’ll get you nice and open for us… Do you think you can take us both?” Jeremy shakes his head. He doesn’t think. But he wants to. God. He had their first cover of GQ taped to the inside of his closet door. He looked at it every night before bed. He thought of them. Fuck, if any little gay or bisexual little boy athlete in the world hasn’t, at one point, dreamt of Riko and Kevin.

 

They know what they’re doing. They are so, so wonderfully in tune, and all Jeremy has to do is _be good._ He can do that. For them.

 

He thinks back to Kevin’s self-satisfied smug smile the next morning, when Jeremy couldn’t even speak, his brain scrambled well and good by his talented mouth.

 

Kevin and Riko had gone to morning practice. Jeremy had returned to their room, found his clothes, and made his way back to the hotel USC were booked at.  
  
He’s incoherent with fury and humiliation now, facing Jean’s broken face.

 

Riko was the monster.

 

_Kevin’s the one who wanted you._

“Did you?” Jeremy asks, finally.  
  
“What?” Jean’s voice wavers.  
  
“Back then. Did you want me too? Would you have joined them?”  
  
Jean is still looking at his ruined hands. “No.”  
  
“No?”

“I did want you. I wouldn’t have joined them.” He looks up then. The shadows under his eyes are lighter these days. “I wouldn’t have wanted our first time to be like that. First time. Only time. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t think I’d make it out of the Nest long enough for it to matter,” Jeremy flinches, but keeps quiet, lets Jean finish, “But still. It would have been… a dirty trick. So no.”

 

“And Kevin - ?”  
  
Jean shrugs. “It’s all the same to him. Kevin is a taker. He just… It’s what he does. He takes. People. Things. Can you blame him?”

 

Jeremy thinks about that. Wants to be fair, but finds that in the face of Jean’s quiet melancholy, when the ridges of his scars pale beneath Jeremy’s fingers… there is no fairness in him. “I can.”  
  
Jean’s smile is still a broken up thing, made of longing and regrets. Wanting was all he’d had in the Nest. He’d learned not to want things.  
  
_The meek shall inherit the Earth._ That’s what Jeremy’s Bible says. And Renee’s. Maybe it’s true.

 

He’d felt the ridges of scar tissue when he slid a hand under Riko’s shirt, pulling him closer while he pounded into Jeremy with the same precise determination that made him such a menace on court. Kevin was kissing the breath out of him, his cock sliding between Jeremy’s thighs.  
  
He’d made a noise. “Don’t,” Riko said.  
  
In the darkness of the room, Jeremy slid his hand, and placed it back over Riko’s shirt.  
  
“Good boy,” Kevin said, and lined his cock to his entrance.

 

Jean looks at him like he’s never seen sunlight before, like he’s blinding and impossible and thoroughly confusing, mayba a little terrifying in his clarity.  
  
“Okay,” he exhales.  
  
Jeremy smiles. He doesn’t manage a full smile, but it’s something. He touches his forehead to Jean’s. “Thank you for telling me.”  


Jean lets his eyes flutter shut. “Thank you. For everything.”

 

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, I am asking you to NOT begin your comments with how much you hate Riko. I fucking know. I've enabled comment moderation, and I'm not afraid to use it, so let's keep it positive, shall we?


End file.
